


To See You Alive

by GhostChems



Category: Jreg, The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Ancapistan is Gatsby's New York, Angst, I'm sorry for all the cliffhangers but I love doing them, M/M, More angst, Other, Slow Burn, most of the ideologies personalities are OC also bc we got 1 second of minarchist and Hoppean, only angst, this is convoluted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostChems/pseuds/GhostChems
Summary: Post-Left regrets leaving Tankie, but it was also the best thing that qui had ever done; until they meet again.
Relationships: Left Unity, LibLeft/AuthLeft, insinuations of one-sided Hoppean/Nazi, mentions of Libertarian/Ancap
Comments: 28
Kudos: 124





	1. Re-Do

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm sad. Newflash!
> 
> Also here are songs I want to cry to but somehow I can't even though I really need to:
> 
> Falling in love with your best friend- Paul Baribeau  
> To see you alive-Flatsound
> 
> also all of Elliot Smith's discography fucks me up every time. 
> 
> Have a good day, a shitty read and Centricide 5 was good but I personally can't deal with musicals.

Qui had left the Centricide months ago, and it was true, qui had never felt better.

Cui mind was clear, qui wasn’t as stressed nor as miserable as when qui was still with the other extremes, qui was in a better place now. 

But something still hurt so bad.

Post-Left couldn't place it though, during the day qui was happy.  
Minding cui own business and just doing what qui felt was the right thing for qimself.  
Finally achieving a sense of completion in cui life.  
But late at night, when qui couldn't drift off to sleep, something kept nagging at cui brain,as if there was a gaping hole in qui soul.

The late night thoughts felt like an old song, stuck and repeating, but constantly changing ever so slightly so that they would keep settling roots deeper and deeper inside cui head.

Qui knew what the songs where about.  
They always sang about the same things after all.  
And they hurt, not because they were sad or scary in any sense, but because they were mundane.  
They sang of scenes of qui daily life as Ancom.

They were hazy and soft like good dreams and that was only one of the reasons why it hurt so much.

They hurt so much because they were from a time past.  
They were smiles and stares qui had shared with Him.  
They were kisses that had never really started but that without any doubt had existed at one point.  
They were hints and suspicions, flirting and attention that had cemented in cui heart a strong love for Him.

But in the end they weren't cui anymore.  
They were Ancom's memories not Post-Left’s.

At first they were happily mused over, reminders of how foolish cui past self had been to trust the state and how much stronger qui was now.

But soon enough they became open wounds slowly filling with salt.

Late at night qui was reminded of them, reminded of how much qui had hurt but how much all the pain was worth it if qui could see Him smile or laugh one more time. 

How even after all the condescending words and (maybe unintentional) insults He would let quem, drugged up, frail and hurt, crawl up into His arms, and He would hold quem for hours, until the drugs would settle and get out of cui system, until qui was patched up and ready to keep going.

This occurred often, but qui knew that many of those late night weren't because qui couldn't handle the drugs but were because qui was faking it, pretending to be even more of a failure than what qui really was, just to feel any form of affection from Him.

But to every smile and slither of affection there were always triple the amount of heartbreak; hearing Him and Nazi always insult quem for things qui wasn't, insulting quem for things that qui pretended to be just to get closer to Him. 

Only Ancap knew, he always knew.  
Before qui had become Post-Left he had gone to quem and had asked quem why qui pretended to be something qui was not, why qui pretended to always be drugged up, why qui pretended to not know basic theory, why qui went out of cui way to always try to seem weak and sickly.

Ancap had realized before anyone why qui was acting like that, maybe even before Ancom qimself. It was only a matter of time before everything was going to fall down, and Ancap knew, because he always did. He must have seen that this was going to affect the Centricide, no wonder he had already created his own utopia.

Now Post-Left was the only one alone, at first it didn't hurt. Qui could make it, qui was very resilient after all, but it dawned on quem how lonely qui was, how much qui wished qui could feel anything at all, even if it was pain it was worth it to see Him again. 

Qui couldn't keep going like this, but what could qui do?  
Qui wasn’t even Ancom anymore, qui couldn’t run back to Him and beg Him to hug quem one last time. 

Becoming Post-Left was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to qui. Post-Left knew that qui would never, could never, go back to Him. But sometimes, late at night, when qui silently sobbed at those songs, qui hoped He would come back for quem and hug quem again, patch quem up and save quem again.


	2. Spooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Egoism's union of egoist for the production of milk and cake related goods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will baker Ancom be canon? and when will we have more Egoist time? also if Max Stirner had a milk shop so does Egoism, it's a necessity.  
> the opening scene from inglorious basterds is carved in my mind when I think milk and nazis. 
> 
> Why the hell am I writing fanfics?
> 
> Also my praxis is not re reading my stuff, so hahaha enjoy complicated and useless phrases, grammar errors and so much more!!
> 
> truth is I want to be a cowboy. pew pew anarcho-sydicalism with fronterism characteristics and a dash of egoism because I want to not care just like Herr Striner. Maybe I just make my own even wackier ideology?

Post-left had been living in Ancapistan for a while now, after quem and Ancap had left the Centricide cause the other anarchist had insisted that qui live with him.

Qui really didn't care, it was convenient for quem and so at that time qui had agreed with living in the other's new utopia. 

Cui old self would probably be disgusted at the sight of all the mistreatment and unjust hierarchy, but alas that part of quem was just an old ghost.

And, admittedly, qui was a bit disgusted by it too, but qui kept to qimself, everyone else was a spook after all.  
Qui paid for cui well being by synthesizing quote: “the best LSD in Ancapistan” as Ancap has branded it. Qui also was keeping a small milk shop in the centre of the capital, a small space which was a welcome gift from Libertarian and Minarcist. 

Post-Left’s life continued dull and uneventful interrupted only by cui occasional late night lament, but one day someone qui had never expected walked into cui shop and with him those wounds that were slowly healing ripped open again, filling quem with a great sense of dread.

It was Nazi. 

Post-Left had never expected him to show up in cui shop.  
Qui did expect him to come visit Ancapistan, considering the strong borders and the economic racism that was rampant there, partially caused by Hoppean’s insistence on violating the NAP nearly constantly.  
But in cui shop? Never. Milk and pastries didn’t seem like his cup of tea. 

“Greetings. This is a quaint bakery you have here, it’s far more homely than all those other mega Mcdegenerates. Disgusting, the loss of family values under excessive capitalism, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t really care, it’s all a spook at the end of the day.”

“Yes, regardless, I saw a Sachertorte in the shop window, how much for a slice?”

“3.50$, what brings you here, mister? You don’t seem like that big of a fan of Capitalism.”  
Nazi handed quem the money as he started his story. Post-Left was listening with great care while qui cut him a slice, cui hand trembling, heart skipping a beat in hopes of hearing Authleft’s name.

“I don’t mind the Capital that much. I came here for business, ever heard of the Centricide? Well, I’m here to .. identify... centrists and moderates, what would you consider yourself?” 

Post-Left handed him the slice with a grin attempting to hide cui scowl. 

“Ahah, well I’m certainly neither of those, you could call me Egoism.”

“Egoism, huh. Never heard of you, must be an anarchist then, no.”

“Sure. Mind telling me more about yourself, stranger?”

Fuck, it was obvious qui was trying to milk infromation out of him, hopefully he’d budge a little. He wasn’t supposed to be so avoidant of talking about himself, that was Commie’s main personality trait. 

“I’m White Identitarian, and as I said: I’m here to defeat the Centrist scum. Have you seen any here?”

By god! Qui had forgotten how disgusting Nazi was with his methodic nearly erotic fascination with genocide. Ancom was right for wanting to bash his teeth in. 

“No, haven’t seen any. There really isn’t any space for them here.”

“I see, well have a good day. Herr…”

“Egoism. It would be best if you remembered my name. Nazi.”

“...well, that was a very good cake, Egoism.”

With that Nazi walked out of the door, no mention of Tankie, no mention of Ancom nor Ancap, just the Centricide. Perhaps the stress of the evergoing war against the centrists had made him more paranoid than usual. Hopefully that was the last qui had to see of that disgusting statist. 

Just as that thought popped into cui mind a message reached cui old and battered phone. 

Libertarian was going to throw a majestic Great Gatsby-style party the next day with two honorary guests.

Fuck


	3. Dinner with a good friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-left has a dinner with Ancap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a double feature, two chapters at once bc they were written together but the themes are too different for one chapter. AYY Egoism/Post-Left is kinda of an Asshole here, but qui does what qui wants so ehh.

It seemed like today really was an awful day. 

Qui wanted only to go to sleep, but Ancap had invited, to not say forced, quem to one of their usual one on one dinners.

Ever since qui had become Post-Left the right-anarchist had dragged quem to weekly dinners because he “wanted to keep tabs with his good friend” or, as qui interpreted it,“keep your friends close, your enemies closer and your business partners even more”. 

As per usual Ancap’s taste in restaurants was over-the-top and flamboyantly opulent to the point of bordering on crass: large halls, shimmering chandeliers, every piece of tableware as well as the drapes, the marble and even the tablecloths were a mixture of golds, whites and light grays. 

“Ah! Post! I was scared a minute you weren’t going to show.” the anarchist said, greeting the other with open arms and a smile qui supposed was meant to be charming.

“Ancap, if you wear any more yellow I might confuse you with the drapes.”

Post-Left sat qimself at the table, cui back immediately slumping and cui mouth forming a slight frown. 

“What a sweetheart, and you’re as gray as rain clouds. Why the sour mood?”

He always knew, didn’t he? Or was qui too predictable?   
Regardless, Ancap’s ability to read a room was nearly impeccable. It was probably an effect of being a businessman, knowing the mood of your client was always a plus in his world and it was even more convenient in times of war.

“You know my shop in the centre? Out of the blue someone I never expected trotted into it. Ruined my day. It would be in my best interest to, let’s say, ‘violate the NAP’ on him.”

“Knowing you know that could be anyone.” 

“Nazi.”

At first he didn’t realize. He thought it was another teasing. His face contorting into a small laugh and with it the preparations for a witty answer, but, soon, it all slid into shock and dismay. Eyes wide and mouth agape he let out a simple gasp, that too, though, lasted but mere seconds and his face rushed to a silent meditation, a small pause to calculate the weight of words to say. Nothing.

“He didn’t even recognize me. Seems like he’s focused only on the Centricide. Came in for a piece of cake and then left. No mentions of anything but that genoicide fantasy of his.”

“A..Ah, for the best, no?”

“Sure. And then, Libertarian decides to throw a party, with two special guests. You can understand my unhappiness when I heard that.”

“...Look, Post. They came to Ancapistan today and they’re leaving two days from now. It isn’t that bad, you can just avoid them. They don’t know you’re here.”

“I’ll see what suits me best. I’ve had a long day, Ancap. I’m going home.”

Qui sits up and turns away, making cui way to leave. Halfway through the dinner hall Ancap called at quem.

“Post! I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him...I doubt He will be there.”

Qui got cui jacket and reached the exit.

“Ancap. If you ever bring me to another Versailles like restaurant I will be sure to violate the NAP, choose something less tacky.”

Out of the door and into the streets of Ancapistan qui went, the sky was dark and cloudy, gray. Everything felt covered by a light sheeting of soot and dust, and this was supposed to be a utopia.  
It was wealth and luxury for those who could afford it and death for those that couldn’t.  
Every breath of air had a cost if you didn’t want it to slowly choke you to death. 

Post-left didn’t care, it made no matter to quem, and at times qui wasn’t exactly opposed to the effects not paying would have on cui breathing. 

Walking in the city at night was partially comforting, the dark skyscrapers slicing with their shadows the broken roads into specs of purples and golds, ghostly illusions of the shrinking sun. It was one of the few ‘beauties’ everyone could play part of, few cared, though, all were too caught up in the rush for money to look around, but to each their own.

The roads were forgotten, only a few renegades walked down the crumbling streets. Every once in a while qui exchanged an unintentional look with the others. They looked lost and scared, dirtied and slowly choking on their own attempts to make a better life for themselves.   
Egosim reached cui home, a small rickety thing on the outskirts of Ancapsitan, but close enough to be in not-too-uncomfortable distance from the centre.  
The city was seemed condensed into itself from where qui lived, the skyscrapers folding into each other with the smoke and ashes from the industries on the other side of the city creating a gray curtain behind it. The night sky illuminated by the lights of it lost it’s stars, but if you looked carefully to the west you could see them on the horizon. 

It had been such a long day, cui limbs felt heavy, dragging quem to the bed, undressing and crawling into the covers. 

Cui eyes felt so heavy, but qui couldn’t seem to fall asleep.


	4. I'm So Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay up every single night staring at your phone  
> Either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, these constant reminders of your loneliness into nothing more than a bad dream  
> Or praying just for one second you could feel the warmth of equally returned love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fugazi is good, being sad isn't. This writing is bad, Fugazi isn't 
> 
> WARNING!! 
> 
> depression, mental self-harm and semi suicidal thoughts/ sadistic thoughts.
> 
> I find that when I'm feeling down I can't seem to focus on one thing at a time, more a flow of thoughts that lead one after the other. Half of it is just sad songs honestly. How to never stop being sad by dandelion hands hurts in all the right-wrong way places.

Qui was thinking, thinking of what might happen. It was less than 24 hours away, qui could see Him again, maybe He will have thought of how great qui was, how He needed quem too and He’d sweep quem off cui feet, but qui wasn’t who qui used to be.   
Had qui changed that much? Nazi didn’t recognize quem, and Nazi’s obsession was with appearences. 

Had qui changed that much? To the point of being unrecognizable?

Qui didn’t feel that different, he got up and in the mirror the same thing looked back as before. 

The longer qui looked the more deformed it became, the small new marks and errors came to the surface.

Cui body was the same, but little scars and new sores riddled it. Cui skin was so pale, sickly. Cui used to be more active but now cui just walked around at night and the day qui worked and worked and worked. The sun never rose for quem in Ancapistan, it only ever setted.

Cui arms were the worst, little needle holes and scars made intricate tracks of blooming blemishes the more qui looked at them.

The bags under cui eyes looked darker. Cui eyes looked different too, they seemed to have lost something, a glimmer or a shine they used to have. Cui cheeks too had lost color, rosy cheeks and smiles lost. 

Cui hair was the only thing that was the same, unruly they curled at their ends, pulled back qui thought qui looked as tough qui was going bald. The hair was such a hassle, but it was the only thing that was clearly from the past, and even though qui now insisted to cut off all ties to cui past qui couldn’t seem to let it all go. 

It must be the way qui dressed, smarter, more antiquated, clearer, to make quem seem so different.

A crombie jacket, white tailored dress shirt and black pants, it was a style far different from Ancom’s throw on what’s nearest dress code but some items qui couldn’t get rid of. 

The old bandana qui always wore, red and black like cui flag, was refashioned as a cravat loosely tied to only show black with its two tongues not tucked in. Qui old combat boots were kept too, they were comfortable, resilient and sent a message. 

Post-left looked at qimself, qui looked like a mix and match between a punk and a fake intellectual, who was qui trying to kid? 

With the pride pins attached to the inside of cui jacket collar, so they would be there but nobody could see, like qui was ashamed. With a tailored suit and muddy boots, a fancy tie made out of a burnt bandana. 

Qui was a joke. Cui existence a running gag.

No wonder qui was treated like a child, an ignorant little fool.   
Something that needed to be checked every week to make sure it wasn’t wasting away.  
A small child that needed to be cradled, fed and taken care of, because otherwise it would throw a tantrum and get itself into who knows what kind of trouble. 

The inconvenience of knowing quem, of having to care for quem, to take care of a cancer that would plague them until they could no more, until they put quem out for another to find.

That was cui praxis, wasn’t it? 

Qui bet that He would be so much better off now, with Nazi, finally achieving the Centricide, and then He would achieve the Revolution, alone. 

He’d come for qui next, for having betrayed Him. 

And qui would get what qui deserved, but it wouldn’t be that easy, because qui deserved far worse than death, qui deserved to always be reminded of how lonely qui was, of how qui needed Him.

Qui deserved worse because qui was the one who had left it. Death would never be enough to pay cui debts, qui had to go through the torment of never feeling the warmth of equally returned love, because qui didn’t deserve it. 

Was it love? They never did anything. They hugged, and that’s it. But it felt like so much more, it felt like it should have been so much more. 

Qui broke cui own heart, no? Qui missed Him so much, all the good and all the bad, all the late night hugs they never talked about. 

Qui needed that now, qui could probably fall asleep if He were here. 

Did He care though? 

Cui eyes were so heavy.


	5. Wouldn't it be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Left gets ready for the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, finally next chapter will have the stuff. 
> 
> Also, I would like to thank everyone who has read, left kudos and commented on my writing, it means the world to me. I tend not to answer to single comments but, really, it means so much when I know someone has enjoyed something I have made. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

The sun rose.  
The crooked blinds letting specs of light into the bedroom.  
Sunlight hit cui eyes for the first time in months, waking qui from a long uneasy slumber.

Today was the day. The day.  
Probably not though.  
It hurt to think, to hope.  
It was never good to have hope in something, it would ultimately let you down. 

Qui, sure, could dream and fantasize about how anything could happen, you never know, but for so long qui had been let down, hoping and dreaming for a perfect ideal, a flawless life and a pure love, but they never came.  
So now qui had stopped trying, qui tried to convince qimself to embrace a new vision, one of will and decision, one of need and ego.  
Qui was still unsure, qui still dreamed, qui still tried, perhaps unintentionally to hope in what qui used to believe, but all of it felt like a naive hope. 

Qui was going to a party and for the first time in so long qui wanted to look nice.  
So that's why qui was looking in cui limited wardrobe for something a bit ‘nicer’ to wear, an actual full suit, maybe an actual tie too.  
Cui found a nice getup and tied it on, it was ok.  
It looked quite good on quem, but cui mind kept trying to see Ancom in the mirror, to show quem what qui truly was, the real idea of qimself, the druggie, the child, in fancy dress, a fool, he’d only ever be a fool. 

But the shirt and the pants and the long tails of the smoking made quem feel so confident. Qui’d fit right in, everything would be fine.

Qui looked at the mirror again and what looked back was the image of a nice, young man; qui curls looked healthy and skin too, although very pale, had a bit more color. Qui looked good, the teal smoking complimented quem nicely, it made quem feel like qui could take up the world. 

The outfit had all been a gift from the capitalist gang after qui had presented qimself in normal attire to Libertarian’s first grand ball. Qui hadn’t gone to any other, but if qui could dress so dapper and, well, sexy qui would never pass the opportunity again, partially because other fancy, sexy men would be there too.

Maybe He’d be dressed nicely too.

Qui heart was pounding, every minute passed was constantly leading to the limousine that would be waiting for quem, like Charon, the ferryman, to bring quem to the other side. 

It was hellish, the wait and the expectations piling up, mixing in cui brain, creating scenarios on scenarios. They were so real and so different a moment to the next that qui was could be bordering on tears and then smile to the point of splitting cui cui face in half.

Who knows how long qui was there, in front of the mirror, imagining qimself at the party and what might happen, admiring the folds of the jacket on cui figure and what someone might think of it. How He might think of it. 

Cui thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of cui phone, the last warning horn before cui descent into the bowls of abyss that Libertarian’s party would actually be. 

The limo was outside, a stark purified white against the black backdrop of the city, comic to say the least; as the limousine started its way towards the party, on the nort-eatern side of the city, Post-Left looked at Ancapistan, a bustling city built on money in no less than a month, it was but no more than a parlor trick, and so was the Libertarian’s mansion.

The mansion was rarely used, a front to show what money could do if you used daddy’s fortune correctly, but Libertarian was proud of it, the first luxury he had conceded himself after having created the city with his business partner, and rumors spread of why ever his business partner would let him spend so excessively for parties that were nothing more than a monthly publicity stunts. 

But everyone went to those parties, from every walk of life, just to see what all the fuss was about, and after every party Libertarian’s and Ancap’s pockets would fill triple what they had spent, so it worked out in the end and nobody asked any more questions.

Post-Left arrived while the sun was setting and the first few guests skittishly made their way in, the true party had yet to start and qui had to make cui presence known to the hosts, only to show to Ancap that qui could do it, qui was strong.

Ancap and Libertarian were talking and giggling, they were lost in their own world, maybe they organized these parties to have some time to themselves, how counterintuitive that sounded.  
If the two millionaires met outside of the parties it would seem strange especially since the true nature of their relationship was known to few, in fact only to Minarchist and Post-Left, to their dismay.

If their 'partnership’ came to light it could impact their stocks heavily, considering their business partnership with Hoppean could collapse because, as he had put it, “Homosexuals don’t think about the future”.

Qui was a bit embarrassed to enter their private conversation, qui never liked third wheeling and being near the two capitalists, even while they weren’t talking with themselves, felt like being the cameraman for a porno, no fun to say the least. 

So when qui caught the back of Minarchist in cui sight, qui might as well talk to him. 

“Good evening Minarchist.” Qui started, at hearing his name the night-watchmen statist turned around and picking up the egoists hand shook it fervently.

“Good seeing you my friend, how long has it been since you’ve been to one of Libertarian’s parties, I never remember you being here.”

“Oh, I haven’t been for a long while.”

“Ah! I wouldn’t miss one for my life, they’re so much fun. Why have you come to this one, Egoist?”

What could qui even say? I came here to try to finally achieve and experience again the love that has been slowly corroding me from the inside-out because my brain is wired completely wrong and forces me to eternally relive small moments of complete attraction to a man who hates me now? Yeah, no. Minarchist and quem were not friends, more like good acquaintances, qui would never tell him. The only person qui trusted with cui emotional despair was Ancap, who routinely forced it out of quem, and at times it helped quem. Ancap was capable of being human at times, surprising. Libertarian was a lucky guy for having met Ancap, and so was Ancap for having met Libertarian, they complimented themselves perfectly. 

Qui could only dream of being so lucky. 

“Nothing much. Old faces to see, I guess.”

“I’ve heard the two statis extremes might be here. Hoppean has been talking non-stop about that Nazi guy, seems like he might be a bit repressed over the guy.”

“Figures.”

“Haha, I’d say. That will be a site to see! You got any catches?”

Aw hell, what to answer now? Ah yes, while Hoppean goes after Nazi I will go after the communist, a man who opposes my ideology with conviction and whose main theorist wrote an extensive critique that exceeds the total works of my main theoriest. Brilliant!

“Uh, no. Just enjoying a party for once.”

“Look, here comes Hoppean. Hoppe, here you are. Seen anyone yet?”

The beast which was Hoppean crawled to Post-Left and Minarchist, hunched over and looking absolutely feral.

“Yes, actually. I saw Nazi just by the bar. Finally someone who understands the necessity of removing degenerates before they violate the NAP.”

Post-Left answered his little musing, unintentionally at that; qui’d never make that mistake again.

“Nazi want’s to do a lot more than relocating them.”

Hoppean just shot quem a crazed glare.

“I’m going to go talk to him, I have so many projects on how a business collaboration might greatly benefit us.”

Minarchist and Post-Left exchanged an amused smile and followed behind Hoppean.

The party was roaring now, millions of people singing and dancing around, it was majestic. Post-Left could understand the allure of it all, and if qui pleased qui could attend more of these parties, but qui knew deep down the only reason qui had come. To see Him. 

And there He was, sitting at the bar, His back to quem.

There He was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, but it's a guilty pleasure also aaa


	6. Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh here, also small trigger waning for mentions of alcohol abuse and,well, drinking and being drunk.

And there he was, ushanka and all. 

Cui heart was about to explode, a rush of courage coursed through qui veins, qui could do it. Qui would be fine. Qui always made it, that was what cui could do best, make it. 

Hoppean greeted Nazi, introducing himself and introducing his prospects for a detailed business plan that would ‘make great improvements to the well being of..our..preferred demographic’.

Commie let out a scoff.   
Post-Left smiled at that.  
Minarchist tapped quem on the shoulder and gave quem a knowing nod, the night-watchmen then slipped into the party roaring around them.  
Nazi and Hoppean had already left.

It was only quem and the communist. 

Qui had no idea what to say, had he recognized quem? Would he bash quem for how much qui had changed? Or would he swoop quem up and beg to have quem back? 

Qui looked at him intensely: he had changed too, not as much as quimself, but to cui eyes the small changes were noticeable. He looked tired and fed up, the bags under his eyes deeper than qui had even seen them, his posture was loose, less militaresque, small hairs sticking out from his ushanka. He looked as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep in months. 

“You look tired.” 

When would qui ever learn to think before speaking? Commie just refocused his gaze on quem. It was a piercing, menacing, gaze. 

“Who are you?” he answered, voice deep and gravelly, his thick russian accent tinting every word.

Oh hey. It’s me, your old pal Post-Left. Remember how I deserted you? Well, now I found out I actually really care about you, and regardless of what you might think I’m here for you and I think you look tired.

“I’m just an anarchist.” qui said, trying to pass it off as a whisper, “But you really do look tired, you’re AuthLeft, why are you at a capitalists party?”

The communist let out another scoff and qui couldn’t stop qimself from smiling again. It was just so... him. 

“I ask myself the same thing. Nazi insisted and so I am here, I will never listen to him again. All of this is repulsive.”

“It’s an open bar though, you can drink all you like for free. So you may try to fix it with drunkenness.” 

Tankie looked at the anarchist and let out a small grin.

“True.” he said, and after a small pause he added, with what qui thought was a light chirp, “Why don’t you join me?”

Post-Left sat next to him as he signaled the bartender for a couple of drinks. Qui hadn’t drunk in months. Post though it wasn’t smart to drink as much as cui old self did.   
But qui’d let it pass for a chance to be near Tankie. 

Passing quem the first set of drinks the communist asked quem.

“What kind of anarchist are you?”

What kind of what??   
Post-Left was a bit shocked. The Tankie qui remembered would have never asked that. For the first weeks they all lived together he simply wouldn't acknowledge that there were examples of real, functioning anarchist communities, and now he had asked quem to specify the type of anarchist qui was, that was... a first. 

“Uhm, I’m Egoism. You know, Max Stirner… uh” 

Qui felt so self-conscious, about how cui voice trembled and how cui suit felt a bit too stiff or how the taste of alcohol had become foreign and stronger from when cui tried it last. 

“Да, I have heard.”

Cryptic, as always. Seems like the foundations of things never really do change. 

“Well, I’d say. Didn’t Marx write a whole book on how much he hated poor Stirner?”

Commie looks at quem and let out a reserved laugh as he continued. 

“Poor Stirner? I wouldn’t say. But you know, I’ll give him a sense of doubt. Marx isn’t always right.”

“Ha! I never thought I’d live to see the day that Auths would admit they’re wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong.” 

The communists mouth was drawn in a small scoul, straight and unmoving. 

Ahhh, shit! Qui had already fucked up, hadn’t qui?

Instead of clocking quem in the face He let out a reverberating laugh after having seen cui terrified face and said:

“Do not worry, tovarish. It was only joke! Another round of drinks!”

Qui let out a breathy laugh. Geez, qui hadn’t ever heard him joke, maybe his sense of humor was just awful, not surprising though.  
He signed for another round, probably strong stuff, qui worried.   
Qui was already feeling a bit lightheaded, cui face feeling a bit numb and cui movements out of cui direct control, slurred and slow while time seemed to rush by; maybe this was the push some unexisting god needed to bring to conclusion their story, in best or worst. 

Qui mouth rushed before cui thoughts as qui added,  
l“I never really liked Marx, Engles was way nicer. Withering away the state and, ya know, uh being nice to not-so-poor Stirner.”

“He called Stirner, essentially, a force of nature. A liability.” he answered back with what could have been either a laugh or a scof. 

Qui smiled widely and nodded enthusiastically. That was why qui had partially chosen to be associated with egoism: pure wild eye anarchy. Freedom. 

Tankie looked at quem, smiling with that glint in cui eyes, and he saw It.  
A spark he had missed seeing, a spark that he had lost and felt an itching need to now protect.   
This ‘Egoist’ he had in front of himself now reminded him of the strength Ancom had, the gumption qui used to have. The gumption he saw slowly fade, even as he tried to fuel it.  
When Ancom left he hadn’t realized how much he would truly miss quem.   
But after months of the base being so silent he realized what he had always thought was a certainty really wasn’t. 

That qui would come back. 

That regardless the situation qui would pop up again somewhere, alive.

But months had passed and qui still hadn't made any return, not to fight Authright, not to taunt LibRight, not to loot cui stash nor linger silently in the halls. 

Qui was gone and nobody seemed to care.

But perhaps it is far too late to care once someone has already left. 

And so, as the silence dawned on the house the atmosphere became clouded and hazy, and after all the fights and berating from Nazi Tankie would help himself to sleep with a glass ot two, but soon enough they became more and more as their effectiveness lessened.

“Hey, you still there?” 

Egoist tapped him on the shoulder lightly, so light that it was nearly a ghost touch.   
The communist flinched as he stared blankly into cui eyes; those eye which possessed the same fire that Anarkiddie had, but instead of burning a vibrant green glimmered with a deep teal.

“Uhm, so are you there?”

“Where?”

“Uhhehe, I don’t know, are you still,” qui gestured around, flailing cui arms “ here.”

“Да, where else would I be?”

Qui drunkenly giggled, “ I mean like you were. Spacing. Out. I dunno, you just ordered and drank five consecutive shots, like, for me too….I can’t breath, wanna go for a walk? We can snatch a bottle… and maybe some soda or something..and have a lil stroll in the city. The city is so beautiful at night.”

Tankie thought a minute, the drinks he had apparently guzzled rushing to his head. And the idea of more drink and some fresh air with this, well, admittedly cute Egoist, with cui tight suit and bad hair, seemed like a nice enough offer to close an eye on some illegal activity towards Ancap. 

It is praxis stealing from a capitalist anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, im so sorry about not updating this sooner, but I was planning on writing it up during a break I had coming up but all this Corona stuff came along and I live in an area particularly affected, and life become very confusing so I forgot to get around to doing this.
> 
> Anyways! Here it is, finally. Still no conclusion to the saga, only more build up. But I promise they will smooch.


End file.
